Saving Face
by BestDamnDoctor
Summary: Unable to understand his feelings for JD, Cox reacts in the only way he knows how -- anger, rage and violence. As the abuse progresses into something more than just punishment, will Cox be able to come to terms with his own emotions?
1. Prologue

**// SAVING FACE //**

**. . .  
**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is my first ever Scrubs fic. Please comment with con crit or kudos if you want! The prologue is written in Doctor Cox's POV, the rest will be written in JD's unless otherwise stated - I'll probably shove a few more Cox-perspective chapters in here too! This fic is pretty dark, but bear with it, it'll get a little fluffier toward the end! It's also a work in progress, so I'll try to update frequently. Enjoy!

**WARNINGS: **THIS FICTION IS RATED "M" FOR THE FOLLOWING SUBJECTS. Abuse, anal sex, angst, BDSM, bisexuality, bondage, dom/sub, fluff, handjob/fingering, hurt/comfort, humiliation, masturbation, non-consentual sex [RAPE], oral sex, sadism/masochism, strong language, violence. This piece of fiction contains dark, adult matter. Please use your discretion when reading.

**. . .**

**Prologue**

**Doctor Cox's POV  
**

**. . .  
**

I don't know why he annoys me so much. I still haven't figured it out. There's just something about him – the way he comes pirouetting down the corridor at a quarter to eight in the fucking morning, all lavender hairgel and eighth grade cologne. And I can guaran-fucking-tee you he'll notice me no matter how hard I try to hide, like some kind of goddamn homing pigeon.

I just can't take those off-the-chart levels of shrill gossip and candy bracelets before I've had my coffee, and not to mention the camp way he wears his too-damn-long hair. And oh, God help me if I mention the grin; that insane fucking immature smirk he wears plastered across his face whilst blasting mind-numbing gangster rap from his iPod earbuds at five million decibels.

Just the thought of that... that sorry, tragic excuse for a doctor getting his hands on innocent patients makes me sick to my stomach every morning. Just the sight of him makes my chest tighten and my head spin with rage.

And yet, as if by some cruel, godforsaken twist of fate... I want him.

But don't go gettin' any ideas there, Shirley. I don't want him like you might think. It's not all rose-scented love letters and after-work hook ups and the ever-lingering promise of indiscretion on the air... none of that romantic, stomach-churning bullshit. If I loved him, not only would that make me clinically insane, but it would make me a goddamn fag. And if there's one thing Perry Cox isn't, it's a goddamn, ass-kissing, cock-sucking fag.

Actually, thinking about it, I should probably rephrase that. I don't want him. In fact, I'd be so overjoyed if he were to come up to me and gush in that high, pre-pubescent screech of his, '_Doctor Cox, I'm leaving tomorrow and you'll never see me again!_' that I would probably top myself right there to preserve that moment for all eternity. I want absolutely nothing to do with that embarrassing excuse for a medical intern. In fact, I can't even begin to explain how much just the mere sight of him enrages me to a point where I can't control my temper anymore. And before you go gettin' smart, yeah, I do have a handle on my temper, but for some reason that kid's presence just takes away every single strand of self control I own.

Anger's always been the most effective way out for me. I guess you can thank my upbringing for that. Anger always had a place in my home growing up, from the anger my drunken old man felt when he knocked me and my sister from room to room, to the anger I felt for my mother when she just sat there, all glassy-eyed, and stared right through me as if I wasn't sitting there in the middle of the room bawling my eyes out. Sometimes I just get so damn mad that the quickest and easiest option is the only one I can damn well be bothered with.

And honestly, I don't care. If I cared, I'd go to one of those... head-shrinking, fake doctors who sap pathetic wasters for every penny they own, and beg him to make the bad, bad man inside of me go away forever... ugh.

I remember the first time I disciplined him. Properly, that is, as opposed to being put on bed pan duty for the rest of the day, or whatever other ridiculous punishment I had in mind at the time rather than just beating the stupid out of him. I don't remember what he'd done wrong, but I know that it must've pissed me off enough that I hadn't been thinking straight, because I'd literally dragged him by the scruff into the storage closet in the empty lower levels of the hospital, forced him inside, and slammed the door behind me.

I don't know what I was planning to do. Ha, I guess I'm more like that sick, sorry excuse for a father than I like to think I am, because all I can recall is being so enraged that I wanted to hit him until he was crying so hard his girly mascara was running. He was terrified too; he had that wide-eyed dear-in-headlights thing going on, and that only made me more determined to teach him a lesson.

I still remember clearly the noise he made the first time I socked him. It was a surprised, high-pitched shrieking noise, and it was like music to my ears. I felt that sound echo across every part of my body – from my ears to my chest, down into my stomach, before it tingled across my groin, shooting up and down my legs. It spurred me on, and before he could ask me what the hell I was doing, I'd hit him again.

I carried on for about a half a minute, which doesn't sound very long, but considering I was doing nothing but kicking and punching him it probably felt like hours. He begged me at one point, managing to scream it out in between kicks. The plea only made me angrier. That was the first time I let fly at his face, the ring on my left hand cutting his lip and splattering my knuckles with blood.

I caught sight of him with blood on his chin as he fell back against the stacks of nursing equipment, pain and fear and shock etched into his eyes as he cowered there. His hands came up defensively as he braced himself for another onslaught of attacks. His cheeks were wet with tears, and had I stuck to my original goal, I would've taken that moment to say a sweet hi-dee-ho about how I wasn't gonna tolerate his stupidity and disobedience anymore, wring my hand out, and leave.

But, for some stupid fucking reason, I didn't.

He looked so pathetic, sprawled against the back wall of the closet, blood dribbling down his chin and tears welling up in his eyes... he looked so helpless and afraid. This time, the feeling went straight to my groin. Something... something _horrific_ deep inside of me wanted to prolong that moment I'd been waiting for, to make it last, to bask in it a little longer.

And, God help me, I listened to that sick voice.

He flinched as I moved toward him. I called him a girl's name, the first one I could think of, for 'crying' and 'not taking it like a man'. He begged me again, and I socked him hard in the mouth to shut him up. I didn't want to listen to him beg; the begging was making it harder than it had to be, when all I wanted was to justly punish him. To give him the beating he'd deserved since the first time he'd fucked up and got off scott-free because he was kissing Big Bob's ass. And, damn it all, I wasn't gonna let him get away by begging.

Maybe I felt bad for him, but I knew it had to be done. I'd spent too long bottling up this rage to just stuff it all back inside now.

The next few moments were a blur, but it ended with him crushed face-first into the door of the closet as he tried to escape. The doorknob clattered in his hand, and I grabbed his wrist. My fingers wrapped around, tight as a vise, and I hissed in his ear that I'd break it if he didn't settle down. He gave another of those pathetic whimpers and I felt myself shudder against him, pressing him hard into the door.

He gasped. It took me a while to realize why, and it was only when he shifted against me that I felt how hard I was against the small of his back. He moved, trying to struggle, and only succeeded in rubbing himself against me. Despite how hard I tried not to moan, it came out anyway, and he whimpered again.

"D-D-Doctor Cox..." he whispered. For some reason, instead of making me angry and resentful, hearing him say my name like that only made my predicament worse.

"Shut your fucking mouth, Sandra, or I'll shut it for you."

I... don't know what I was thinking. I don't wanna dwell on it, honestly. Whatever, it's fucking done with now, over with, and there's nothing I can do about it.

He yelped when I grabbed the waistband of his scrubs pants, and his free hand shot out to stop me. "No...!" he started, and I jerked him hard up against the door to shut him up.

"Newbie, keep your damn mouth shut, and I'll make it quick."

I don't know why he listened to me. I wish he'd fucking fought me off, punched me and kicked me and, God, I don't know, pulled my fucking hair for all I care. Suddenly, he was still against me, except for the... the stupid girly shaking and the pathetic little noises.

I kept my word, though. I made it quick. He was impossibly tight, and release came sooner than I'd expected. When I was done, I pulled out and tucked myself away as if I was ashamed someone might see, not looking down at him because I knew I my come wouldn't be the only fluid I'd see on the backs of his thighs.

"Get dressed, Angela. And get the fuck back to work."

I could hear him fighting back sobs as I left, having shoved him back behind me so I could open the door. I stood outside for a moment, listening to the pathetic girly noises he was making, before shaking my head hard and power-walking in the direction of the washroom.

I don't know why I headed to there; maybe my mind was anticipating my body's next reaction, because yeah, being the soft ass that I am, I spent a good minute with my head over the toilet bowl. My chest heaved, bringing up more, making me literally sick with guilt and rage. Realization of what had just happened, what I'd done, began to set in. I rested my head against the cubicle wall and closed my eyes, breathing hard and heavy.

I'm not gonna tell you what I was thinking about, 'cuz honestly it's none of your damn fucking business. Besides, I forced myself to forget most of it. All you need to know is that I'm not some kind of fucking heartless monster, and yeah, I felt some remorse. 'Course, I chose to ignore it. Instead of dwelling on it, I cleaned myself up, rinsed my mouth out, and headed back out onto the floor. I was a rock, stony-faced and ice-cold. People recognized the 'warning signs' of one of my 'bad moods', and by the grace of God left me alone.

Later that day, Newbie and I passed each other in the corridor. My heart leapt into my throat and my hands balled into fists at my sides as I braced myself for... well, whatever the fuck was gonna happen. However, he didn't shriek at me, or come after me with that annoying, '_Doctor Cox, Doctor Cox!_' whine of his. He didn't even make eye contact with me. He just kept on walking.

I didn't see him for the rest of the day. He did a good job of keeping out of my way. I don't know how he explained the bruising around his lip, but his scrubs did a good enough job of hiding the rest. It was actually pleasant to spend a day without him yapping at my heels, and I used that as an excuse to justify what I'd done.

The next morning, however... yeah, you guessed it. He was back to his usual self, and at a quarter to eight, that piercingly high voice of his cut through my ears again as he came bouncing down the corridor at Ghandi's heels.

I don't really know if it was just a defence mechanism, acting like nothing had happened between us – I don't really care, either. I don't care about him, his mental health, his physical wellbeing, or anything else I might've trashed the first time I took him aside and punished him using a method I hoped he'd never forget. The beating, that is. Anything else that had happened in that closet I had forced to the back of my mind with the aid of an entire bottle of Jack that night. The beating was the punishment, and despite the images that had haunted me while I slept that night – because yeah, even the big bad Doctor Cox has nightmares, kids – Newbie had deserved every second of it.

It was probably that rationalization that makes it so easy to do it again. And again, and again. Every day, I find myself growing less and less patient with him, and less and less able to keep a handle on my temper.

But he never fights back. Part of me wonders why, the other part – the bigger, more controlling part – doesn't really give two craps, or at least likes to pretend it doesn't. I guess I try to justify it by saying he obviously knows he damn well deserves it, and that's why he doesn't bother putting up any resistance.

We both know when he's in the wrong, and we both know he deserves it.

And I think, deep down... we both enjoy it, too.

**. . .**

**// FIN //**


	2. Chapter I: My Daily Schedule

**// SAVING FACE //  
**

**. . .**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I'm not a doctor, but I tried to research the medical terminology online. Still, everything won't be perfect, so sorry in advance! J.D.'s point of view this time, the other side of the coin... enjoy!

**. . .**

**Chapter I: My Daily Schedule**

**J.D.'s POV  
**

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**

Things at the hospital never really change much. I learned that during my first week. The patients change, obviously; you're always dealing with something and someone new every day, 'cept for those ones that hang around for a while. But the atmosphere in the hospital in general, the people you work with, the dreary day to day tasks, they stay the same. Even when something does change and it's all fresh and fun and new, it just becomes monotonous and repetitive after a while.

My daily schedule's always pretty much the same. I drag myself outta bed at five-thirty, shower, shave, brush my teeth and deodorize. This gets me to about six 'o'clock, and I spend the next twenty minutes pulling on my scrubs and aiding my hair in its daily mission to defy gravity.

If I'm having a lucky day, Turk's up by this time and he'll already have started breakfast. If I can smell toast while I'm slicking wax through my hair, I know I'm kinda on my own in the food department. Let's just say this is a day Turk hasn't slept in, is in a pretty good mood 'cuz he's getting in on some super-intense procedure, and wants to kick-start his awesome day by making pancakes. His timing's pretty slick too, so as I'm coming out of my room there'll already be a plate waiting on the counter for me.

Goddamn it, I love living with Turk. He's totally the King of Pancakes. 'Cuz, see, he puts this special ingredient in which I'm totally forbidden to tell you, but yeah, you have to try 'em to believe 'em!

Anyway, back to my daily schedule. I'll usually sit and eat with Turk, which means I'm running the risk of being a few minutes late for my shift, but... it's kinda stopped being such a bad thing. Like, y'know, it's a bad thing, but it's not at the same time. I can't really explain it.

I end up leaving the apartment at about quarter to seven, giving me just fifteen minutes to get to work. I guess I'm pretty lucky I don't have to deal with public transport every day like some of the other interns at the hospital. Travelling by bike is slower, but totally worth it.

By seven I'm at work, and by five minutes past I'm on the floor, full of pancakes and coffee and ready to start my day.

I only get a few minutes to catch up on things before rounds. I don't like to brag, but I'm Doctor Kelso's favorite intern, so rounds are easy for me. It's always me and Elliot duking it out but I'm still the best, even if she does stay up until three in the morning studying. So, I walk away from rounds with a big smile on my face, feeling good and ready to face the day!

The rest of my daily schedule is pretty choppy. I know the things that are gonna happen, I just never know which order they'll pop up in. I know that, before I head home that night, I'll take someone's temperature, sign about a billion patients' charts, send someone for some kind of scan, hopefully save someone's life, hopefully not lose someone, and irritate the living hell out of Doctor Cox.

I don't mean to annoy him that much... well, I didn't at first. Now I kinda do, I guess. Well, _really_, can you blame me? He _likes_ it when I annoy him. He must do, right? If he didn't, wouldn't he just ignore me and pretend I don't exist like he does with most of the other people in the hospital he hates?

I guess deep down I'm partially guilty... I do kinda like the attention. Yeah, I know, laugh it up. It sounds sick, right? There's just something about standing there in front of him when he's red in the face and that vein in his temple is throbbing, and he's spitting insult after insult at me. Sometimes I find it almost impossible not to grin like an idiot while he's going off on one of his rants.

What can I say? I guess my teacher in fourth grade was right... I'm an attention seeker. I always have been. Needless to say, Doctor Cox gives me more than enough attention when he's hitting me with over-animated rant after over-animated rant to keep me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

I guess this is the part where you expect me to say, '_that all changed when Doctor Cox hit me for the first time_'. Sorry to say... that's kinda not the case. I don't know why, but when Doctor Cox dragged me into that closet and kicked the crap out of me (well, not when he did, because I was too busy crying like a freakin' girl...), I actually walked away smiling. Shaking and bruised and possibly with minor concussion, but smiling.

I'm sure a shrink would have a field day with me. 'Cuz that's pretty messed up, right? Enjoying that?

I guess I didn't like all of it, if that helps my case. I _did_ keep outta his way for the rest of the day and have nightmares about him chasing me around the hospital with a baseball bat and a mace, and I _was_ crying in that closet for about an hour after he left me there. But there was something about what had happened that day, something that made me feel special and important, and victimized in the best and worst way ever.

I was important enough to Doctor Cox that he'd taken time out of his day to give me the attention I'd kind of been pining for from the first time I started annoying him deliberately. Sick as it sounds, that made me feel pretty damn proud of what I'd accomplished.

We silently worked together as a tight-knit unit to make sure no one noticed. I think he was impressed at how good I was at hiding it. He stopped going for my face, just for the areas no one would see, and I started wearing long-sleeved shirts underneath my scrubs to hide the bruising. We worked more efficiently as a team at this than we did as doctors together, and it excited me to know that we shared this secret nobody else knew about.

Despite the pain, I liked being on the receiving end of it. It reminded me that he did notice me, and that he did feel something for me. I wasn't just a nobody to this misanthropic, hard-faced antihero. I was a somebody. I was important and I mattered.

Honestly, at the end of the day, that's all I want right now – to be important, and to matter. Until I become the most amazing and incredible doctor Sacred Heart has ever, ever, _ever_ seen, all I can hope for is not to fade into the backdrop with all the other interns they've already labeled as failures, and to stand out in some way.

: :

"Newbie!"

The shrill whistle snapped me out of my daydream, and I jerked visibly as I woke up. I was stood over Mr. Quinn's bed with a clipboard in my hand, my pen against the page in the middle of the sentence I'd been scribbling down, which I couldn't remember how to end now.

I'd been at the hospital for just over two months now, and the illusion of what being a doctor would be like had already been wiped out of my head for good. It wasn't all swanky offices and cute nurses, and spending your days wrist-deep in blood and skin and bone, helping people and saving lives so that you could tell the waiting family that, yes, they'd made it and, yes, you'd brought their loved one back from the brink of death and saved their life. Not even the doctors who had been at Sacred Heart for decades had lives like that, and it was kind of depressing to have that dream shattered right in front of your eyes.

I jerked myself to attention and tried to look on the ball as I _felt_ rather than heard Doctor Cox storm into the room behind me. I turned around to face him, but he had already slammed into me, shoving me out of his way. Now I was back in the real world, I could hear the alarming beeping of the patient's heart monitor as it tried to warn me that she was going into cardiac arrest.

"What the hell's wrong with you?! Get outta the way!"

I was forced back out of the way as two nurses joined Doctor Cox around the bed, crushed against the wall of the small private room. They were all quick and practiced, as if they'd done this a thousand times before, which they probably had. Shocked, I just stood against the wall and watched, clipboard clutched against my chest.

The man was dying. He had been fine just a few minutes ago, I'd been taking down his readings and admiring the card his kids had made him which now sat on the bedside table with a bouquet of flowers, and now he was dying.

"He's going into cardiac arrest," the doctor barked, snapping on a pair of latex gloves before moving to yank out the defibrillator. "Newbie, get over here, CPR now!"

And then, all eyes were on me, and my heart leapt into my throat. Doctor Cox wanted me to assist him in the defibrillation. My mouth dropped open, and although my mind was screaming at me to move, every muscle in my body had completely shut down. I was frozen against the wall. All I remember seeing was the look of disgust and rage in my mentor's eyes as he turned to the Latino nurse instead, whom I now recognized as Carla, and nodded at her.

Doctor Cox already had the defibrillator paddles in his hands, rubbing them against each other quickly as the other nurse pulled open the front of the man's gown and dried off his chest with a towel. Carla did what Doctor Cox had wanted me to do; she snapped an oxygen mask onto his face and began to pump his chest hard, counting the compressions. Hands were everywhere as the three medical personal fought to save a patient's life.

"Clear!"

Everyone moved back as Doctor Cox's sharp warning echoed around the room, quickly followed by the beeping-crunching sound of the machine as it forced the electric shock through the paddles and into the man's chest. His eyes darted up to the heart monitor as Carla went back to pumping his chest. The line was still flat, and he snarled in determination as Carla finished and he placed the pads against Mr. Quinn's chest again.

"Clear!"

Watching Doctor Cox work always has this weird effect on me. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my stomach fill will butterflies. He's so amazing in the heat of the moment, with beads of sweat gathering on his brow, biceps tensing and bulging beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his white coat, his face twisted in this... this tenacious look, so serious and determined. It makes me so proud to be a doctor, watching him, that no matter how bad the situation is I can't help smiling to myself.

Eventually, I forced myself out of my state of shock. My hands tightened around the clipboard and I took a step forward. "D-Doctor Cox, can... can I help with...?"

"Too late, Michelle," he growled back. "You blew it. Now shut the hell up or get the hell out, we're trying to save the man's life...!"

I shrunk back into my corner and watched in silence. After what felt like hours, the beeping of the monitor calmed down and Doctor Cox drew himself up, setting the defibrillator paddles back on the machine. "His vitals are good, for now. Keep him under observation and page me if anything changes."

"Yes, doctor," Carla replied, shutting down the AED and turning back to me. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she stayed quiet. I stumbled forward, extending a hand as my mentor stripped off his gloves and headed for the door.

"D-Doctor Cox! I'm sorry, I..."

His shoulder hit mine hard as he walked past me and I flinched. When my eyes opened again, he'd kept walking, not even bothering to look back at me. My chest heaved out a sigh and I leaned back against the wall, suddenly becoming very interested in the ground underneath my feet.

"Bambi..."

"It's okay, Carla. I fucked up." I felt terrible; I'd really let Doctor Cox down. He'd actually trusted me to help him save a man's life, and I'd frozen up. We could've done it together, and I would've been a part of the reason that patient was still alive and breathing. I sighed again and ran a hand through my hair.

It sounds kinda psycho, but at that moment I wasn't as upset at myself for freezing up as I should've been. The only thing I can think of that's more satisfying than Doctor Cox being pleased with me, is Doctor Cox being mad at me.

As I left Mr. Quinn's room, there was a spark of excitement in the pit of my stomach at just how much I must've pissed him off. And what's more, if I focused all of my attention on it, it was strong enough to blot out the feelings of guilt and shame at how happy I was despite the fact that a patient had nearly died right in front of me.

::

"Doctor Cox, I... I just wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened back there."

Of course I'd sought him out. Any sane person would've run off with his tail between his legs and hidden in the supply closet for the rest of the day, but I guess if you think about it I can't be that sane. The exciting part of making him angry is the aftermath, where he rants and raves and yells at me, and even though I hadn't deliberately done anything to piss him off this time, I felt like I should take the opportunity to get a little of that attention I crave from him so much.

He was in the on-call room, laying on his back on one of the bottom bunks with his arms folded behind his head. I'd asked around until someone had told me he'd taken a ten minute break – as opposed to his usual half-hour – to just chill out before he had to prep one of his patients for surgery.

That was a tell-tale sign that he would be in a tetchy mood. His patient was about to undergo a liver transplant, a procedure that could easily go wrong, and he would be tense and stressed out about it. That was probably the reason I was shivering with nerves and excitement as I stood outside the door of the on-call room... a feeling which only deepened once I stepped inside and realized we were alone in there.

"Newbie, I see your lips moving, but all I can hear is this... really, _really_ annoying high-pitched whining sound, which kind of sounds a little something like this..." He then proceeded to keen at the top of his lungs, a sound that hurt my ears, until he was certain I'd had enough and finally closed his mouth again. I swallowed and pulled back out of my flinch, fingers twisting awkwardly behind my back.

"Look, I know you're mad at me for freezing up..."

"Freezing up?"

Doctor Cox rolled into a sitting position, his hair sticking up a little at the back, and he fixed me with a disbelieving glare.

"Lemme get this straight, Hannah... you think the only reason I'm pissed at you is because you got a lil' case of stage fright when a patient really, really, _re-he-heally_ needed your help?"

In an instant, he was on his feet. My stomach churned again but I held my ground, the darkness of the room falling across his face as he glared down at me.

"You were stood there." His voice was dark and gravelly and serious, and had lost all of its usual humor. It sent shivers up and down my spine, made my teeth stand on end. I shivered as I stood in front of him, close enough that I could feel his breath on my nose. "You were right there, in the room with him, and... _God_, Newbie, he was dying and you just stood there! Did ya even _hear_ the machines _trying_ to tell you that he was on his last leg? Or were you too busy daydreaming about fluffy kittens and those little pink umbrellas you put in your Goddamn virgin martinis?!"

My heart stood still as pain exploded from my arm all the way across my shoulder and chest, and it took me a few seconds to realize he'd hit me. His hand was balled into a fist and my flesh was throbbing beneath the long-sleeved shirt I was wearing.

I glanced up in shock, though I'd been expecting it. My stomach rolled over again and my breathing became shallow and quick. As much as I enjoy it, it doesn't mean I'm not afraid of him. He's really hurt me before, turning my skin various shades of grey, blue, purple, green and yellow. The attention I love so much comes at a price, which sucks, but it's a price I'm willing to pay.

It's worth it, in the end.

Doctor Cox's nostrils were flared as he glared at me, eyes narrowed dangerously. I knew this session wasn't going to last long; we were both busy, and anyone can walk into the on-call room at any time, so it wasn't going to be drawn-out by any means. Still, I take what I can get when I can get it, so...

He hit me a few more times, pain dancing across my ribs. I wound up against the post of the bunk bed, curled into as much of a ball as I could muster, trying to keep myself as quiet as possible so that no one would walk in and catch him.

My beating was cut short when the doorknob twisted and the door was pushed open. Without saying a word or bothering to see who it was, Doctor Cox pushed his way out of the room and disappeared, not even looking back at me. My heart was pounding in my ears with adrenaline as another on-call resident walked into the room, glancing back at Doctor Cox in confusion before looking over at me.

I was still pressed against the post of the bed. I forced a casual smile and nodded at him, before excusing myself and scurrying out.

The light was bright out in the corridor, and it was so busy with life that I was amazed no one had heard anything from inside the on-call room. I looked around for a moment before scratching the back of my head, my chest aching terribly as I stretched my arm up, and hurrying in the direction of the men's locker rooms.

"Hello...?" They were empty, so I quickly moved inside and hurried into the shower room, catching sight of myself in the full-length wall mirror there, the one The Todd would do countless sit-ups in front of while Turk and I were forced to watch and tell him how every one defined his abs even more. I swear, one time I actually saw one pack pop out of his stomach! I scooted over to the mirror and looked around nervously to check I was actually alone before grabbing the hems of my scrubs and shirt and peeling them both up over my chest to survey the damage.

The left side of my chest was bright red, fist-shaped marks stamped all over previous bruises of different colors. I blushed a little, even though no one was there and no one could hear what I was thinking, as I admired how it looked against my pale skin. I wasn't as beaten as usual, because we'd been interrupted halfway through, but it still looked and felt good.

I lifted one hand, even though it hurt to flex my ribs, and touched my fingers to the red marks that would later leave bruises... or at least, I hoped they would. I got so caught up in tracing the outline of one of the fists that I didn't hear anyone walk into the locker room, and so Turk's voice startled me. I jumped, yanked my shirts down, and spun around on the spot to face him.

Turk laughed casually. "Trust me, man, those abs ain't gotten any bigger since you spent an hour last night in the bathroom starin' at 'em in the mirror."

I forced myself to mirror his laugh, putting my hands on my hips and shifting awkwardly as I tried to act as cool as he was. Like, y'know, I hadn't just spent five or ten minutes admiring the bruises my mentor had given me like they were pop art.

"Oh, c'mon, chocolate bear... I rode around the block a few times on my bike this morning before coming in, and I think you can see my six pack more now..."

"The invisible one?" Turk cocked his head a bit, still smirking. "Yeah, sure, man. Hey listen, I'm goin' on a date with that hot nurse tonight, so make sure you're in your room when I get home, if y'know what I'm sayin'..."

I didn't realize back then just how serious the Turla – or Cark, it's personal preference really – thing was going to end up, so I shook it off like she was just another in a string of a thousand hot chicks Turk had gotten his wicked, wicked way with and then said adios to. I was probably still nervy as I rolled my eyes and grinned at him, because he asked me, "Hey, dude, you feelin' okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I answered, a bit too quickly.

Turk just shrugged, spreading his hands out toward me as he did so. "I dunno, man, just Carla told me you froze up on a patient this mornin'."

"Oh, that." I scoffed with a smile and waved my hand carelessly. "That was nothing."

Turk raised an eyebrow. "Didn' seem like nothin'. She said y'all just stood there with your mouth open while everyone else saved the dude's life."

I cursed inwardly at Carla for being such a goddamn gossip. She was probably just concerned, which actually made me happy – it was nice to have someone looking out for me who really cared – but still, it was a pain in the ass now that everyone in the hospital was gonna find out about me making a giant ass of myself.

I choked out another laugh and just shrugged, hands on my hips again. "Well, y'know. It happens, right? Right, dawg? _Dawg_?" I reached out and cuffed him on the shoulder, trying to loosen up the atmosphere, and Turk just smirked a bit and shook his head.

"Well, all right, man. Just checkin' up on ya. So yeah, man, make sure you ain't layin' out on the couch in your Spideyman Y-fronts again, don't be killin' the mood. Got it?"

I fashioned my hand into a gun and pretended to fire a shot at him. "Got it."

Much to my annoyance, Turk didn't leave. Instead, he turned around and pulled his scrubs shirt up over his head, tossing it into the laundry chute. Despite my desperate urge to check whether the marks on my chest were bruising up yet or not, I was forced to leave the room.

It didn't matter, I could check when I got home or on my lunch, and by then the entire left side of my chest would hopefully be purple. Hopefully. If it wasn't, it wouldn't be too hard to poke and prod Doctor Cox into finishing the job.

It never was.

**. . .**

**// FIN //  
**


End file.
